


Latina Lingua

by AnastasiaWrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaWrites/pseuds/AnastasiaWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots, all based off of common Latin phrases in reference to our favorite classics nerd Bellamy Blake.  Mostly Bellarke, and will include both showverse and AU's.  Sides of Wicken and Minty and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Terra Firma

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first installment of Latina Lingua! So the prompt for this one is terra firma, or solid ground. While reading I recommend listening to Your Soul by RHODES. I will include a song rec in every installment because I'm a sucker for a good soundtrack. If you want your favorite latin phrase included, let me know in the comments and I will take it under consideration:)  
> -Ana

I. _Terra Firma_  
On Solid Ground

 

Clarke hadn’t felt safe since the ark. She’d fallen from the heavens like some kind of rebellious angel, and she’d found herself in hell. She had fought against everything new that Earth had to offer, and she tried not to feel like they were all doomed. And _he_ was always at her neck, fighting her for every inch of ground she gained. He seemed to hate her on principle. Just because she was privileged in the sky did not mean she was privileged here. She never thought herself above anyone else.  
She had to fight for everything she got on the ground. Every scrap of food, every moment of rest, every respect she had to scrape from Bellamy’s hands.  
He was only mildly irritating at first. Just some asshole with an awfully high image of himself, trying to be a king in a lawless world. She almost pitied his efforts. Then he had to go and be himself, fighting her on every trivial thing. Going to Mount Weather for supplies they desperately needed, letting Jasper live, leaving the camp. He was stubborn as a blind mule.

So that makes her wonder how they ended up here. Clarke has never felt safe on the ground. And yet somehow, when she wasn’t paying attention, something had changed.

Clarke caught Bellamy’s eye over the crackling fire at Camp Jaha. He smiled and raised his tin cup in salute. Sure, they still had people to save back in Mount Weather, but she was alive. They both were. And that was something to celebrate when nothing is guaranteed.

Later, when the fire died and the embers were fizzling out, all the other arkers asleep in the ark, Clarke still sat on the log and stared at the sky. Her neck had started to ache, but the constellations were mesmerizing. She just couldn’t look away.

As she sat, she felt someone sit next to her, hip to hip and arm to arm. She turned and found Bellamy staring, his neck craned upwards, moonlight dancing across his face and the stars reflecting in his eyes. Molten eyes that caught hers and held them, sharing some kind of bond that Clarke hadn’t felt growing until it was already there. They’d been forged in fire, and they’d emerged like sparkling steel.

“It doesn’t feel real sometimes. That we used to live all the way up there. Suspended in the universe.” Despite her whisper, her voice shatters the silence, and when she turns her head once again away from the stars, she finds his eyes trained intently on her. She wonders how long they’ve been there, and where it was the fire in them came from.

“We wouldn’t have lasted much longer up there, even if the ark had unlimited oxygen. As a race, we belong **on solid ground**. We would’ve torn ourselves apart up there eventually.” His voice is almost reverent as he speaks, and his words remind her of their first tumultuous weeks on the ground. They had come so far.

Clarke had never felt safe on earth. But with her eyes trained on her old home, her feet rooted firmly in her new one, and her head rested comfortably on Bellamy’s shoulder, she understood what Bellamy meant. They were meant for solid ground.


	2. Alea Iacta Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College AU; Bellamy and Clarke's relationship takes a drastic turn, and as much as Bellamy wants to go back and fix things, he knows there's no going back; the die has been cast. Part 1 of 2 for this particular story line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I was doing mostly oneshots, but this beast has become so gigantic it is being split into two. In this AU, Bellamy is a bartender/grad student at TonDC University, where his sister and her friends are undergrads, and he has known Clarke since she was fourteen and he was 19. This is partially a crack fic because some of the things Jasper says are just ridiculous and I feel like I should apologize I just love my Jasper so much I can't help but give him ridiculous lines. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Also, if you think some characters are OOC let me know because I feel like Bellamy is a little OOC but I really like puppy dog Bellamy who is so ridiculously in love with Clarke he can't function. I will NOT always write Bellamy like that, but I think it fits the best here, so that's what I went with.
> 
> Song rec: "Worry" by Jack Garratt (GREAT song, chorus fits perfect with the fic, I HIGHLY recommend)
> 
> So without further ado, here's the second installment of Latina Lingua, I hope you enjoy:)

He hadn’t meant to do it. It had been a horrible, horrible misjudgement. It’s just they were both drunk and he was thinking about how far Clarke has come since she was a grieving high school junior who refused to leave her room. _God he was stupid_.

First of all, you shouldn’t fall in love with your little sister’s best friend. That’s rule numero uno. But it’s not like he didn’t try to avoid it. He slept with just about everyone trying to get that infuriating blonde out of his head, and nothing worked. He even slept with _Raven_. He doesn’t even l _ike_ Raven. She’s too sarcastic and too sharp and too tall and her name starts with an R and not a C.

Bellamy released a groan of frustration that bounced around his apartment as he contemplated how totally fucked he was. He started making a mental list, just for organizational purposes:

  1. He slept with his little sister’s best friend when they were both drunk on the anniversary of her father’s death (who the fuck does that? God, he is an ass.) 
  2. She ran out of his apartment immediately after, probably to walk back to the dorm and tell her roommate- HIS SISTER - all about the worst mistake she’s ever had to endure 
  3. And somehow Bellamy still can’t stop thinking about how happy he was for a few hours, how right it felt, and how he missed her



As Bellamy was cataloguing his mental list, he heard the cacophony that signaled Jaspar’s entrance to their apartment, Monty trailing behind him like a lost puppy. Bellamy sat up from where he was reclined on the couch as Jasper and Monty turned around the corner, and perhaps he shouldn’t have risen too fast, because Jasper let out an ungodly scream and fell to the floor. Bellamy wasn’t quite in the mood to laugh, but Jasper’s fuckup seemed to be exactly what Monty needed. Monty was bent over, laughing like Bellamy hadn’t seen him in weeks. It was nice. 

Jasper, however, was not even a little amused. The glare he shot Bellamy could’ve melted steel. Bellamy would have felt more threatened if it wasn’t coming from a 150 lb stoner wearing ski goggles in October. Hell, if it was coming from Clarke he’d probably be turned on. 

Jasper gathered himself and rose from the floor, trying to salvage his dignity, taking note of the sour look on Bellamy’s face. “What’s got your thong in a knot?” Jasper dusted himself off, all the while maintaining his glare. 

_No_ , said Bellamy’s subconscious, _stop thinking about thongs_. _That will only make you think of-_

Too late. He was thinking about her. 

He groaned and fell back on the couch. “I fucked up guys. I really, really fucked up.” 

Monty walked around to sit on the opposite chair, and Jasper took a seat on the floor, looking very serious. 

Jasper cleared his throat. “Bellamy, whatever it is, we are your confidantes. If you need us to hide the murder weapon, I will personally pull a Gone Girl and shove it up my own asshole. I’m not afraid. There have been worse things in there.” 

Bellamy sat up abruptly. “I didn’t need to hear that. And I didn’t kill anyone, either, Jasper. But good to know you’d have my back if I had.” 

Jasper looked perplexed. “Well then what did you do?” 

Bellamy sighed, and his eyes caught Monty, who was back to looking dejected. “I don’t want to bother Monty with this right now. I know you and Miller are having some issues... my problems are not that important.” 

Monty sighed. “Bellamy, you’re my friend. Nate and I will work things out, we always do. What I want to know, and what will be an excellent distraction, is if you could tell me what’s going on…” 

Bellamy took a deep breath. “Okay, then.” And he began to tell the story. 

He’d been down at the Ark, their group’s favorite bar, winding down after an awful day balancing classes and running to make his shift at Grounders, the bar near campus. He had finished his shift and was desperate to be drinking anywhere but there, so walked to the Ark, which was just around the corner from his apartment. He’d sat there for an hour, nursing a beer, before she walked in. 

The second she pushed open the door he knew something was off. Bellamy had known Clarke since she was fourteen, and he’d seen her in lots of different stages in her life. The second she got out of high school, she’d ditched the pencil skirts and blouses. She wore ripped jeans and loose tee shirts, clothes she could paint in. She dropped the tight french braid for loose ponytails and messy buns with pieces falling out, framing her delicate features. Traded flats and heels for boots. It didn’t matter all that much to Bellamy, anyway. She looked beautiful in everything. But she’d always looked happiest when she wore what made her comfortable, and all Bellamy liked her best when she was happy. She deserved it. 

But that night, Clarke walked into the bar wearing a blazer, a pencil skirt, and a bun so tight Bellamy wasn’t sure she’d be able to close her eyes if she tried. She walked into the Ark, feet wobbling on power heels, and caught sight of Bellamy. She stopped briefly to pull off her heels before striding over and sitting in the bar stool next to him. She put her heels on the table, but Wick could tell something was wrong with her and let her societal indiscretion go. 

When she untied her hair and it fell around her shoulders in loose waves, free and glinting in the dim lighting, Bellamy knew he was fucked. And he couldn’t even pretend it was the two beers he’d had talking. 

“Hey, princess.” Bellamy stared pointedly at his glass, worried if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her. 

“Hey, Bell.” 

There was something off in her voice. She seemed wound too tight, and her voice was too controlled. She sounded like her mother. That’s when all the pieces fell together. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. October 4th. The day of the car accident. No wonder Clarke was upset and dressed like she’d jumped out of a business meeting. She must have been with her mother. 

Clarke stared dejectedly at the beer placed in front of her, tears just starting to prickle in the corners of her eyes. Bellamy turned his head and motioned to Wick. 

“How about something stronger, Princess? On me.” He laced his tone with as much understanding, and Clarke looked up at him, grateful that he wasn’t going to prod her and coddle her until she spilled her feelings, like Octavia would. Bellamy would wait for her to make the first move. He always had. 

When they’d each had a few shots, words started to flow from Clarke like a fountain. Her eye makeup was smudged under her eyes, her hair was knotted, and she sniffled every other word, and yet Bellamy still couldn’t shake the feeling like if she’d asked him to jump in front of a moving train right then and there, he wouldn’t hesitate. If it would make her smile on today of all days, he would do just about anything. _God, you’re so screwed_. 

“It kind of snuck up on me this year, you know? Like I thought it might come and go and I’d visit my mother and it would all be ok because it’s been three years and it felt like it would be fine and then my mother had to ruin everything at dinner and I was driving away from our house wearing this ridiculous getup and thinking about how much I’m still mad at her for and how if it weren’t for her he would be here and I wouldn’t have to do this every god damn year and I just… I lost it. I had to pull over, Bell.” 

Clarke was crying in earnest now, and Wick was leaning on the counter holding out a tissue, a concerned look on his face. Clarke hiccuped and sniffled, took the tissue from Wick and then took another shot. She wiped her fingers under her eyes to clear away the running smudges of black makeup, and smiled wryly, trying to compose herself. 

Bellamy chose this moment to finally say something. “Clarke, you don’t ever get over losing someone like that. You will never forget it. But trust me, it’s a good thing.” His mind drifted to his mother, but he filed that away. Today was about Clarke, not him. 

Speaking of which, Bellamy had clearly said the right thing, because she was staring at him like she couldn't think of a nicer thing to say. “Thank you.” 

With that, they knocked back two more shots. Clarke seemed to be getting happier as she drank more, and he couldn’t deny he needed to let loose. When all was said and done, they were both slightly more than tipsy, and walking back to Bellamy and Jasper’s apartment. Bellamy didn’t want Clarke getting in a cab this late, and walking was out of the question, so he offered up Jasper’s bed for Clarke while Jasper was sleeping over at Maya’s. Clarke had readily agreed, but only if he was willing to give her a piggyback ride there. She always did act like a five year old when she was drunk. And because he never could say no to her, he obliged. 

That’s how he ended up with Clarke on his back shoes dangling from her fingers and arms locked around his chest in exactly the wrong way. He struggled to find his keys with her clutching around his chest, laughing and giggling, and eventually, they both just ended up chortling outside his apartment. He let her slide down off his back and she leaned against the door, still laughing while he searched for his keys. His inebriated hands struggled to fit the key in the lock, still laughing to himself, both the alcohol and her giggles intoxicating him. When they’d finally got inside, Clarke changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt that Bellamy lent her, and they’d gathered around the kitchen counter for a nightcap of more whiskey. 

It was the whiskey that ruined them. 

Two more shots in, and suddenly Bellamy couldn’t pay attention to anything other than the fact that Clarke was wearing his clothes, and that she was staring at him like she was trying to bore holes in his head. And then she was bending down from where she sat on the countertop to grab his face between her hands and smash her lips against his. And then he realized what it truly meant to be addicted. Her lips were like heroin, one hit and he was a goner. He’d never be able to kiss anyone properly ever again. And his fuddled brain tried to tell him to stop, but all of his synapses were firing off at her touch. He tried to push her away, in truth. But she’d looked him in the eye and said, with a kind of steel in her voice that Bellamy finally recognized and had missed so much, “Please, Bellamy. Just forget for a little bit, okay?” And he couldn’t deny her that. If she wanted him to make her forget, he would oblige.  And he really, really did.

* * *

 

When he woke up, she was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring out the window, and Bellamy wished he could forever capture the image in his head.

She had a sheet wrapped around her, her neck turned towards the sun as she stared out the window. Rays of golden light danced on her hair, making it shine, and her pale skin was practically luminescent in the brightness of the morning. He'd never seen something so peaceful. 

He ruined it, though. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her, and she turned her head. He snapped his eyes shut, not wanting her to catch him staring, and he heard her get up. He thought maybe she would stay, but he could hear her scooping up her clothes from where she’d left them on a chair, pulling on the wrinkled monkey suit she thought would impress her mother. He imagined her looking back at him as she left the room, but Bellamy was fairly certain that could only be wishful thinking. If an escape was what she wanted, Bellamy would let her have that. As usual, he was a sucker for letting her get what she wanted. 

But that was three days ago, and Bellamy hadn’t seen her since. 

When Bellamy finished his story, Jasper was staring at him with eyes so wide they looked like saucers. “You mean to tell me, Bellamy Blake, that you slept with Clarke? As in Clarke whom we have known and loved since the tender era of prepubescent childhood?” 

Jasper looked ready to have a coronary. Bellamy groaned. “I know. Dick move.” 

Jasper let out this sound of indignation somewhere between a gasp and a scream, and throttled Bellamy with a pillow. “NO BELLAMY. BANGING CLARKE WAS NOT THE DICK MOVE. THE DICK MOVE WAS NOT WAITING ANOTHER TWO MONTHS SO YOUR BELOVED ROOMMATE WOULDN’T WIN AN UNDISCLOSED AMOUNT OF MONEY THAT HE COULD HAVE USED TO BUY AN UNDISCLOSED AMOUNT OF WEED.” 

Bellamy stared at Jasper as he continued hitting Bellamy with the pillow. “You morons made bets?” 

Jasper answered with a specifically strong hit. Bellamy looked at Monty. “What say you, Monty?” 

Monty smiled wryly. “I am going to get so high.” 

Bellamy rolled his eyes and pushed Jasper away. “Glad to know you two are ‘always on my side.” 

Jasper sat back down, exasperated, and Monty smiled cheekily. “Oh it wasn’t just us. Raven, Octavia, and Wick all thought you guys would bang before the end of the year, too. The only people who thought you’d make it a year were Jasper and Nate…” At the last bit, Monty’s voice trailed off and he looked sadly at his hands. 

Bellamy felt like a dick. “I’m sorry Monty. I should never have even mentioned my love life when you guys are still having problems…” 

Monty shrugged. “I love him. So I know it’s going to work out. Sometimes you just have to wait.” 

Bellamy fell silent, contemplating Monty’s words. Turning to Jasper, he elected to consult the other end of the responsibility spectrum. 

“I should probably just talk to her and tell her to forget it. We were both drunk, she was not in the emotional state to make a decision like that.  I'll just say it never happened. What do you think, Jasper?” 

Jasper raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so, Bellamy. You can’t just pretend this never happened.” 

Bellamy was lost. He had done it before, with Raven. He could do it again. 

“Why not?” 

Jasper looked at him like he was an invalid. “Because that’s fucked up. And that would make you the king of douche palace. And you’d have to overthrow Finn to get that position, and that’s not an easy thing to do.” 

When Bellamy only looked perplexed, Jasper groaned and clutched his head in his hands.   “How can I translate this into words your pretty little humanities head can understand? Monty, a little help?” 

Monty paused in thought for a moment, before raising a finger. “You are Julius Caesar. And you have just crossed the Rubicon.” 

Jasper rose to his feet. “Thank you, Montius! That is exactly how we must get through to him!” He turned to Bellamy, “YOU are Julius Caesar and you just crossed the Rubicon! You can’t just pretend that shit never happened! That’s a giant ass river, Caesar. The Chinese are NOT gonna be happy! And Clarke is the other guy from the first trifecta. What would Pompeii have done if Caesar had come back and just pretended like he didn’t just try to take over the world? They would’ve stabbed him, and then Caesar never would have been able to found the age old and wildly successful pizza chain and then the world would have one less pizza chain. No, you can’t go back and pretend this one didn’t happen, Bellatrix.” 

He paused his pacing and got right in his face, an accusatory finger practically picking Bellamy’s nose. “ **ALEA IACTA EST** , BITCH.” 

Bellamy grabbed Jasper’s finger and pointed it elsewhere. “Not to overlook the other horrible travesties upon history you just spouted, but you do realize that they did stab Caesar, right Jas? Tell me you knew that.” 

Jasper gasped, “SPOILERS, BELLAMY.” 

Bellamy groaned. “Beware the Ides of March? Et tu, Brute?” 

Jasper smiled and blinked, “Gesundheit!” 

Bellamy felt a piece of him shrivel, deep down in his heart. “Oh my god.” 

He took a deep breath before continuing. “Although the part of me that believed you capable of superior intellect just died, Jasper, I do kind of understand what you’re saying. I’ve been trying to get to this point with Clarke, where she knows how I feel, for the majority of the time that I’ve known her. There’s no point in going backwards now.” 

Jasper grinned. “Exactly, Julius. You’re learning so much. I expect five percent profit of Little Caesar’s profits.” With that, Jasper winked and strided into the kitchen for a soda, leaving Bellamy to ponder exactly what he had learned from the most historically inaccurate analogy he'd ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop there it is. So the second part of this two-shot will be up either tomorrow or the next day since it's already half finished, and will include Clarke's POV of the whole ordeal, not to mention some BFF moments for Clarketaven. My fierce faves. So until next time, I hope you enjoyed the second installment of Latina Lingua, and I shall see you again soon:)  
> PS please don't think I don't know that the Rubicon does NOT lead to China and I know it was the first Triumverate and I know that it was Pompey who fought Caesar not Pompeii the disaster city. But just because you and I know that does not mean that Jasper does.  
> -Ana


	3. Alea Iacta Est, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's POV and reaction to the night where everything changed, and how they fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, part II of Alea Iacta Est, where we get some insight to Clarke's POV from the night of her father's anniversary, as well as how she confronts Bellamy about what happened. Not to mention some Clarketaven friendship aka my fave thing to write. So enjoy!
> 
> Song rec: "Sigh No More" by Mumford and Sons (any NMTD fans?)  
> "Nothing Stays the Same" by Luke Sital-Singh

Previously on Alea Iacta Est:

_“Although the part of me that believed you capable of superior intellect just died, Jasper, I do kind of understand what you’re saying.  I’ve been trying to get to this point with Clarke, where she knows how I feel, for the majority of the time that I’ve known her.  There’s no point in going backwards now.”_

_Jasper grinned.  “Exactly, Julius.  You’re learning so much.  I expect five percent profit of Little Caesar’s.”  With that, Jasper winked and strided into the kitchen for a soda, leaving Bellamy to ponder exactly what he had learned._

* * *

 

Meanwhile, at the university dorms four blocks away, Clarke lay sprawled out on her duvet, her sad playlist playing and all the lights off. Octavia had been at Lincoln’s all weekend, so Clarke could wallow in her pity without interruption. This, however, did not last, as Raven, who shared a bathroom with Clarke and Octavia, was rather intrusive when she wanted to be. Raven let Clarke wallow uninterrupted for the first two days, but on day three, she decided it had been long enough.

She stormed into Clarke’s room with no announcement, and Clarke flinched from buried underneath her duvet. Raven flicked on the lights and Clarke hissed.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. I don’t know what’s going on with you but it’s nothing a little chinese food can’t fix.” Raven shook the cartons of food in her hands and Clarke sprung up, hair matted over her face and eyes hooded.

Raven sat on the end of Clarke’s twin bed and Clarke reached out for a carton, but Raven clicked her tongue and pulled them away. “I don’t think so, Oscar the Grouch. Shower and big girl clothes first, Chinese later.”

Clarke looked down at her sweatpants and pullover. Groaning, she hoisted herself off of her bed and trudged into the bathroom. Raven threw jeans and a nice shirt at Clarke, and Clarke attempted to catch them, glaring at Raven all the while.

After a short shower that felt much nicer than Clarke would ever admit, she was sitting with Raven in the floor’s empty lounge, a carton of lo mein in her lap. After ten minutes of silent eating, Raven put down her carton and crossed her arms.

“Ok what’s going on with you.” She paused. “Is this about your dad?”

Clarke swallowed thickly, shaking her head.

Raven cleared her throat. “Is this a… Finn thing? Are you guys, uh, together again?”

Clarke’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not, Raven. It’s been months since I’ve even looked at Finn.”

Raven looked relieved, then puzzled, but waited for Clarke to explain.

“This is about… Bellamy.” Clarke stared intently at her lo mein hoping it would give her a solution to her Bellamy-sized problem.

Raven, however, didn’t look surprised. “You slept with him didn’t you?”

Clarke stared at her, mesmerized. “How did you know?”

Raven snorted. “I’m surprised you guys made it this long without going at it. They way you look each other is absolutely ridiculous. But thanks for getting on top of that, or on top of _him_ I guess, because you just made me, Octavia, Wick, and Monty very wealthy.”

Clarke looked at Raven, indignant. _They’d placed bets?_ She was about to argue when Octavia stormed in, a smile on her face. “Raven called me about the pity party. Did I just hear something about us being rich, Rae?”

Raven smiled. “We won a bet.”

Octavia’s jaw dropped. “ _You’re kidding._ ” Her head flipped to Clarke. “You and my brother finally resolved the sexual tension? Tell me everything.”

Clarke gaped at Octavia. “How can you be talking about this so casually? This is your brother I’m talking about…”

The eye roll Octavia produced was something of a masterpiece. “Exactly. He’s my brother. And who better for him than my best friend whom he has known since a very young age and watched grow into an amazing, spirited, headstrong, gorgeous woman?”

Raven snorted. “Jesus, Octavia, I’m starting to wonder if maybe _you_ should date Clarke.”

Octavia placed her hands on her hips. “I would if I hadn’t known you since we were fourteen and I wasn’t already in a very committed and healthy relationship. God, Raven, just because you want to bang everything with a pulse does not mean some of us aren’t capable of a little self control.”

Raven rolled her eyes and grabbed another carton of food from the table. “Hey, I can’t help it. I’m not getting any and I’m bitter.”

Clarke watched as Octavia flopped onto the opposite couch and kicked her legs up on the end, reaching for a carton of lo mein herself. “Now that is not for a lack of available men, Raven and you know it. When are you gonna give poor Wick a chance?”

“When he’s dead, which if he keeps going on the way he is, could be very soon.”

Clarke and Octavia both shared disturbed looks before Clarke turned to Raven, who sat cross-legged, furiously stabbing her noodles like they were Wick.

“Necrophilia is illegal.”

Raven hit her with a pillow and Clarke flinched away before her attention was redirected. “Can we go back to you and Bellamy, please? Leave my stalker alone.”

Clarke sighed. “Ok, you really want to know?”

The girls nodded furiously.

“Ok, then…”

* * *

 

She’d been at her mother’s for two hours, pinchy heels and all, and it had been going just fine. That is, until her mother had to ruin everything.

She’d been sitting at the table, across from Kane with her mother at the head of the table.

“So how has school been going, Clarke?” The question was innocent enough, and Clarke appreciated that Kane was making an effort. Her mother had found a good man, but Clarke still had trouble looking her mother in the eye without feeling that anger bubble up again, so she’d been distant at best. Clarke suspected Kane blamed himself.

When Abby noticed her silence, Clarke groaned to herself. She would have to answer the question. “It’s been… good.”

Abby smiled, satisfied. “And your pre-med courses are coming along?”

Clarke nodded warily, trying to gauge if there was any possible way her mother could know…

“Did you hear me, Clarke?” Clarke’s head snapped up, realizing her mother had been talking while she’d been lost in thought.

“What was that?”

Abby raised her eyebrows and continued sawing at her steak with a vigor in her eyes. “I said I was surprised you would say your pre-med courses are going well since you are no longer a pre-med student.” Abby’s calm exterior shattered as her silverware clattered to her plate. “Really, Clarke? An art major? Do you really think that’s wise? When Thelonius called me I was certain there had been some kind of mistake.”

Clarke swallowed thickly, wishing, not for the first time that day, that her dad was there. “I know you don’t think it’s advisable, mom, but I simply can’t see myself in the medical field.” She hated the composed tone she automatically took with her mother, like she was talking to her boss.

Abby was not appeased with this answer. “And I can’t see you throwing away everything you worked so hard for, just to live the rest of your life in poverty.”

Clarke felt bad for poor Kane, watching the argument with widened eyes and trying to placate Abby. But they had both risen out of their chairs now, their filets forgotten on their plates.

Clarke’s pulse was burning a hole in her neck, heat flooding her head as she tried to remain somewhat calm. “Well, mom, as much as I respect that you wanted me to follow in your footsteps, I simply refused to go into something I will never love the way you do.”

Her mother shook her head. “Oh, Clarke when are you ever going to grow up? The real world has no room for women with immense talent who throw it away for something that will never support them.”

Clarke’s anger was truly gathering steam now, and she saw red mixed in with the hateful tears in the corners of her eyes. “Mom, as much as I appreciate your advice, I also know that you are _not_ always right, and I know that in this particular case, I need to trust my own decisions.”

Her mother’s fists were balled at her sides, lacking her usual composure when she was angry. That’s when Clarke knew she was really screwed.

Abby’s voice was barely audible over the ringing in Clarke’s ears, even though she was practically shouting. “ _Your decisions_ , Clarke? I will have you know that this is the first decision you have ever made and if you carry on like this you will certainly be doomed.” She breathed heavily. “Make no mistake, _every_ decision that I’ve made has been to help you get where you are today, and I refuse to let you throw away years of hard work for a useless hobby!”

Clarke felt tears streaming down her face. She didn’t care. She wanted to hurt Abby. When she spoke, it was in barely a whisper. Her voice swallowed the tense silence. “Oh, _all_ the decisions you’ve made have been for me, mom? _Every single one_?” Clarke paused, certain that if she pulled this card, there was no going back. “ _Like when you decided to drive home drunk? Was that for me, too_?”

All the color drained from Abby’s face. Angry tears wedged out of the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks, and yet, Clarke felt no regret. Her mother was so quiet she practically mouthed the next words.

“ _Get out_.”

Clarke didn’t need to be told twice.

When she stormed out of the house, she turned around on the path to her car, and saw through the window her mother’s sitting form, head in hands, and Kane holding her shoulder and rubbing her back.

Clarke turned and she didn’t look back again. She slammed the door of her father’s old car loud enough for her mother to hear it, and she sped off.

She barely made it to the highway before pulling over, heavy sobs wracking her shoulders and tearing up her throat.

When she had cried all the tears she could, she wiped down her face with some tissues and reapplied her makeup. She didn’t know what the point was of doing it, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to drive if she kept catching sight of her red, tear stained face in her rearview. All she wanted to see in her rearview mirror was her old house shrinking into oblivion, and if putting on a brave face was the cost, she was willing to pay it.

She’d parked her car at the dorms and walked into Octavia and her’s room, sat on the bed for .2 seconds before deciding she couldn’t stay. She hastily grabbed her fake and locked her door behind her, calling a taxi on the way out the door. She knew exactly where she wanted to be.

When she walked into the Ark, she expected to run into someone. It was a weekend and her entire friend group liked hanging out at the shitty bar, mostly because Wick owned it and served them despite the fact that most of them were underage. Luckily, it was Wick behind the bar, so she pocketed her fake and slid onto the barstool beside Bellamy, who was cradling a beer, looking like a lost puppy.

From the time she met Bellamy, they had a kind of friction that made it almost impossible to tolerate each other. They used to get in outrageous arguments when she first started hanging out with Octavia. He’d hold her for responsible for being born into a rich family when they had gone through periods of their lives on food stamps, and she’d nitpick about his completely baseless prejudice against her when she has never, ever acted holier-than-thou towards him. Then eventually, the undertone of cruelty just… melted away into a sort of begrudging respect. They became friends around junior year, when Clarke’s parents got in the accident. She’d been in her room for weeks and Octavia had called Bellamy from school. He’d come in and forced her into a state of normalcy, and after that she couldn’t hate him.

She could however, needle him for the revolving door of women that came and went within weekends, she ridiculed him for his inability to create a stable relationship, all while trying to hide the blooming feelings she had for him deep down. It didn’t really work.

So she supposes drinking with Bellamy alone was not the wisest choice. The whiskey was what really did them in. After her first couple of shots, she’d spilled everything, and he’d looked at her like he wished he could take away all her pain. And she knew she was only thinking so because she was drunk, but she thought for one moment that she saw the same feelings reflected in his deep brown eyes that she figured must be so obvious in hers.

And he’d carried her to his apartment on his back, like he used to do for her and Octavia when they were in high school, and he lent her his clothes to wear to bed and when he’d unlocked the door he was just so close…

She made it so close to getting through the night without any mistakes. Then, she was sitting on the countertop and he was right in front of her, just a few inches down. And she decided she was tired of looking at his face so far away. She grabbed his cheeks between her hands and brought his lips to hers.

She hadn’t expected him to react so… wholeheartedly. She’d expected him to push her away, and he tried. But she needed to see if these feelings for him were real. So she asked him to forget for a second. _Forget that I’m your little sister’s best friend_. _Forget that you don’t have feelings for me, that this is an unrequited crush._

And he seemed to take to that task very well. He did an almost expert job at making her-

* * *

 

“OKAY I THINK WE GET IT, CLARKE.” Octavia’s shrill exclamation interrupted Clarke’s narrative mid-sentence, and Raven snorted.

Raven was staring in admiration. “Did you really say all that to your mom?”

When Clarke nodded, ashamed, Raven only grinned. “Go Clarke.” She paused before changing the topic. “So we know how it went down, what we need to figure out now is what you’re going to do about it…” Raven trailed off, waggling her eyebrows as she ate her Chinese.

Octavia cautiously removed her hands from her ears. “Is it safe?”

“Yes, Octavia, it’s safe.”

Octavia nodded and cleared her throat. “So now that we know what happened, we should figure out what you’re going to do about it.”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Very creative and original idea, Octavia. I literally just said that.”

Octavia scoffed. “Hey, I was trying to protect myself from hearing the sordid details about my best friend’s secret tryst with my brother, excuse me for not wanting those mental scars.”

Raven seemed to poise to respond but Clarke intervened. “Can we just focus on the what am I going to do part? Please?”

Raven and Octavia abandoned their glares and turned towards Clarke once more, who was grateful to see any fledgling fight fizzle out in the girls’ expressions. Raven spoke first.

“I think you should obviously talk to him. You can’t just wait indefinitely and hope you never run into him.”

Octavia nodded. “She’s right. At this point, confrontation is inevitable. You’re going to have to talk to him eventually; what matters now is what you plan on saying.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know how to even _start_ to apologize… I totally took advantage of him and now things are going to be totally different between us and we’re never going to go back to the way things were…”

Raven placed her cartoon on the coffee table and rested her elbows on her knees. “Clarke, you are totally right. Things are not ever going to be the same between you two again. But is that really such a bad thing?” When Clarke only looked confused, Raven pressed on. “What I’m trying to say is you’ve been pining after Bellamy for who knows how long, and you never had the guts to do anything about it, and all you could do was watch as he found other girls to take up space in his bed. Is that really what you want to go back to?”

Octavia chimed in, “Besides, I really don’t think you took advantage of Bellamy, per se.” Raven and Octavia shared an amused look. “You can’t take advantage of someone who wants it just as much as you.”

Clarke’s mouth fell open. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Raven waggled her eyebrows, Octavia snorted. “I mean that maybe, since Bellamy responded clearly very well, he has the same feelings you have for him.”

Clarke paused. “But he didn’t respond very well… he tried to push me away, twice.”

Octavia jumped in after Raven fell silent. “That means nothing. If I know Bellamy, I know he sure does like sleeping with people but he doesn’t want to take advantage of anyone. He was probably trying to save you from making a mistake that he thought you’d regret. It was probably a dream come true for him, but he thought you were doing it for the wrong reasons.”

Clarke frowned, realization dawning on her. “It probably didn’t help that theory that I snuck out like a coward the next morning.” Clarke fell back on the couch, food abandoned and palms pressed over her eyes. “God, he probably hates me.”

Raven shook her head. “Nah, Bellamy could never hate you. But he probably thinks you regret it because you don’t have feelings for him, not for your actual reasons.”

Clarke groaned. “Then what do I do?”

Octavia stood up and stomped over to the couch and pulled Clarke up by her arms. “You put on your shoes and you walk over to his apartment and you tell him exactly what you just told us. That you don’t want things to go back to how they were before. That you don’t regret sleeping with him because of a lack of feelings, but because you thought they weren’t reciprocated.”

Clarke stood up, adjusted her shirt, and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

She was out the door in seconds, walking briskly and trying to sort out her thoughts, when she slammed head first into a very tall, dark, and handsome obstacle. When she looked up, her apology died on her lips as she realized it was Bellamy that she’d careened into, not paying enough attention to where she was walking.

“Bellamy…” Clarke stared, unable to find words in such short notice. At least he seemed to be struggling too.

“Clarke? I was, uh, just coming to talk to you, actually…” Bellamy scratched his neck, and his shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen. Clarke shivered as she was bombarded with flashbacks.

She finally found something to say. “That’s funny I was actually just coming to see you too…”

Bellamy smirked. “Why don’t we grab coffee?”

Clarke stopped him, not sure she wanted to be quarantined in a booth with Bellamy, struggling to find words. It was best she got what she wanted to say out now.

“ _Wait_. I need to tell you something first.” Bellamy seemed to brace himself for what she was about to say, and Clarke wondered briefly exactly what he was expecting. But she kept going. “I want to apologize for sneaking out that morning. It was stupid and cowardly and probably gave you the wrong impression…”

Bellamy’s eyes lit up. He couldn’t really understand what she was trying to say, but he _definitely_ hadn’t expected that. “You’re apologizing for… sneaking out?”

Clarke nodded, her cheeks flushed. “I was worried that you would tell me to forget it ever happened, to try to let me down easily, and that’s okay if you still want to, but I couldn’t do it that morning. So I left, and I only just realized how leaving would look…”

Something stirred in Bellamy’s chest. “Look how?”

Clarke fidgeted with the hem of her shirt a bit before resolutely raising her head and staring in his eyes, determination making them alight. She’d decided. She wasn’t going to sweep her feelings under the rug, she was going to own them. “Like I regretted it.”

Bellamy stepped closer, a grin breaking through his lips. “You don’t regret it?” He could hear the awe in his voice, and he didn’t care.

Clarke shook her head. “No, I don’t. But if you do, and I read everything wrong and I am just your little sister’s friend, that’s fine… I’ll let it go, but-”

Bellamy raised a hand and cut her off. “You know, Princess, for a pre-med student, you’re kind of dumb.”

Clarke sucked in a breath as his hands cradled her face, his thumbs sliding over her cheeks. Something in her heart soared as he lent down and kissed her, completely different from that night, but _so much better_. He kissed her the way he smiled. Like he was captivated.

When they both broke away, Clarke couldn’t help the grin that was stretched across her face.

“You know, I’m really more of an art major anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so there it is, the finale of Alea Iacta Est. I will definitely be writing more oneshots or twoshots in this universe because I realize now I never resolved the Minty tension, plus I want some Wicken in here at some point too. Next one, though, will be in the showverse, just haven't decided when.
> 
> Stay tuned!
> 
> -Ana


	4. Errare Humanum Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To err is human. My take on the Bellarke goodbye in 2x16. Forgive me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to update- this past week has been a hell of a different kind. There was not a moment of downtime until today, so I finally got a chance to sit down and pop out a very angsty and very tearful oneshot. I promise the next installment will not be so depressing. Cross my heart.  
> -Ana
> 
> Song Rec: "Knocking On Heaven's Door" by RAIGN (OBVIOUSLY)  
> but also: "Can't Admit It" by Lily and Madeleine (SO relevant to this oneshot)

IV.   _Errare Humanum Est_

      To Err is Human

 

Clarke watched as her friends ran to reunite with their families.  Those who had families to greet, that is.  Those who were newly orphaned hung morosely behind.  

Her chest ached at the sight.  Sure, she’d rescued them.  But for what?  To be constantly reminded that their families were gone while they’re on the ground?  To always feel guilty for hating the situation they were in, because some people hadn’t been lucky enough to make it that far?

As Clarke contemplated, Monty reached towards her for a hug.  She granted him this, holding him as tight as she could.  Monty would have a lot to face in camp.  The only family he had left, Jasper, would hate him.  Another thing ruined by Clarke.

As Monty walked away, sweater wrapped tightly around him, Bellamy turned and sidled towards her.  He rested his eyes upon the camp, and Clarke watched him.  Sun shone brightly on his hair, freckles strewn across his nose like the constellations they used to live in.  His prominent jaw bounced as he surveyed the spoils of their sadistic, twisted war.  He practically shone in the golden sun, but his eyes were cold.  He looked like a king.

She tried not to think about how much he would hate her if he knew what she’d done to TonDC, almost done to Octavia.  She tried not to imagine how he will hate her for leaving.  But she couldn’t stay.

His face turned to her, and Clarke shivered.  “We deserve a drink.”  His smile was so small, she was sure she wouldn’t have been able to see it had she not been standing so close.  But she was, and she could see just how heavy that smile was.

“Have one for me.”  She smiled wryly, trying to convey everything she felt in those four words.   _I’m sorry.  Forgive me.  I have to do this.  I’m so sorry_.

Bellamy’s eyes crinkled.  “Hey, we can get through this…”

She didn’t let him finish what he was going to say.  She needed to rip off the bandage; she couldn’t let herself get sucked into his eyes… “I’m not going in.”

The expression on his face… she felt her eyes melt at the warmth in his, the heartbreak poised to drop in his own deep brown gaze.  “Look, if you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you.”  Clarke felt her heart plummet as she was called back to her own words she’d said to him, back against a tree and heart in hands.  “You’re forgiven.”  He paused again, the sorrow, written in her hand, drawn across his face.  “Please come inside.”

_Oh, Bellamy.  I will never deserve you._

She had to leave.

“Take care of them for me.”  Her own heart was so close to breaking.  If she stayed, it certainly wouldn’t hold.

“Clarke…”  There it was again.  That look in his eyes.  He said her name like a prayer.  

“No.  Seeing their faces every day is just gonna remind me of what I did to get them here.”  She needed to leave.  Soon.  Or she never, ever would.

“What _we_ did.  You don’t have to bear this alone.”  His face was an open book.   _You don’t deserve to be dragged down by me.  You deserve better.  You deserve a life.  And if you’re going to get one… I have to bear it alone._

__

She smiled wryly, trying to keep tears from spilling over.  “I bear it so they don’t have to.”   _I bear it so you don’t have to.  Let me go, Bellamy._

And then, she saw it.  The moment his heart broke.  Pain laced in his eyes, in his mouth, in the firm set of his jaw.  Too late to go back now.  “Where are you gonna go?”

She could tell the truth now, at least.  “I don’t know.”   _I’m so sorry.  Don’t follow me.  Be happy, for both of us._

And because Clarke was a true masochist, she gathered Bellamy’s tall, battered body into her arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek, a kiss that mixed with her tears and stained his skin.  And here it was, the moment she was waiting for.  “May we meet again.”

_I hope we never do.  If we never meet again, it will mean you are happy._

And she turned.  And she walked.  And she didn’t hear his whispered answer, one he truly meant.  Because he loved her.  

But she didn’t turn around.  She didn’t turn and run to him, beg him to make her to stay, because that would be a mistake, and **to make mistakes is to be human**.  She had acted like some kind of vengeful god, hubris running through her blood, and she’d reckoned an entire society, hundreds of people, and she no longer deserved the brilliant pain of human mistakes.  She didn’t deserve him.  She loved him, but she would never deserve him.

She'd been wrong before.  If she had stayed, her heart surely would have broken.  But it broke in leaving too.

 

Walking away, she knew this was the moment.  She could go back and trace her pain to this exact moment, the moment where her heart shattered into a million pieces, and half of them stayed with him.

**  
May we meet again.**

_Pray we never do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cried a few times watching this episode. I wanted to articulate what I imagined was running through Clarke's head as she left.
> 
> I'm so sorry for this. Like I hate me for writing this. But I literally can't control my emotions when it comes to these two. 
> 
> I promise the next one will be SO MUCH HAPPIER AND FLUFFIER than this ANGSTY TRASH. I AM ANGSTY TRASH.  
> See you soon,  
> Ana


	5. Ex Tempore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News anchor AU. Bellamy is the player co-anchor of Daybreak morning news, and Clarke is one of the head writers. Clarke believes in entertainment, Bellamy believes in hard-hitting news, and never gives Clarke's pieces any chance. Part 1 of Ex Tempore, or 'of the moment.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is part 1 of Ex Tempore- I was watching the movie Morning Glory and I just had to write the morning talk show AU that literally no one asked for because I couldn't help it. So keep in mind, there is going to be a second and possibly a third part to this installment of Latina Lingua, because I thought I could write it all in a one shot and i really, really can't. Also, I'm sorry for the unedited piece of poo below. Hope you like it <3
> 
> For all wondering, 'Ex Tempore' is used most often as 'spur of the moment,' or a snap decision.
> 
> Song rec: "Worry" by Jack Garratt (such a jam)
> 
> -Ana

V.   _Ex Tempore_ (Spur of the Moment)

 

Clarke loved her job. She really, really did. She loved Daybreak, she loved writing, and she loved most everyone at her office. Sure, she didn’t like her dirt salary, but she liked the feeling she got when she watched one of her pieces being aired… it made her feel relevant.

Then, of course, there was him. He was the thorn in her side that reliably ruined everything about the show. Morning television is supposed to be upbeat, interesting, but his stupid, pretentious, snobby attitude meant her writing always came off as childish or irrelevant because he made it sound that way.

Bellamy Blake. _God_ , what a dick.

She sat in her office, her shitty office, with a cup of coffee pressed in her palm, when Finn walked in. Finn was nice, and he was a good writer, but Clarke couldn’t say she was a fan after he dated her for two months, neglecting the fact he was currently sleeping with Bellamy’s co-host, Raven Reyes. That had gone down splendidly.

He worked in sports, so Clarke was hopeful she’d never have to see his dumb, pretty face every day, but no, he was intent on ‘rekindling what they had.’ All they 'had' was too much alcohol and a brief hey-let’s-have-sex-on-your-desk fling. Which then turned into two months of dating. Whatever.

So Clarke murmured something about having to talk to Bellamy (which she’d been planning to put off for as long as possible), and hastened out of her door, leaving Finn and his puppy-dog eyes frowning. Boo hoo, go fuck yourself Finn.

Mug in hand, pencil skirt neat, and sheer blouse elegantly tucked, Clarke moved with as much grace as possible towards Bellamy’s office at the end of the hall. She braced herself for what she might have to witness, downed a gulp of scalding black java, and twisted the knob, throwing open the door.

As usual, Bellamy was sitting in his desk chair. Being straddled. By a woman. Who wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Clarke sighed and crossed her arms, leaning in her doorframe. “You about done? We need to talk about tomorrow’s piece.”

The woman turned around and Clarke nearly choked on her coffee. “Raven?”

Raven hastened for her bra. “Hey, Clarkey. Let’s just pretend you didn’t just see that.” Slipping her heels back on, she headed for the door, but stopped on par with Clarke. “Actually, don’t. You definitely saw that, if Finn asks.”

Clarke nodded, eyebrows disappearing in her hairline, before turning back into the office and closing the door behind her. She picked up Bellamy’s discarded dress shirt and threw it at him, probably a little harder than necessary.

“Jealous, Princess?” His voice was deep and rough, probably from the heated whatever that was going on when Clarke walked in.

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Put a shirt on, Blake. We have work to do.” Bellamy started buttoning as Clarke leaned against the wall. This would’ve been weird if she’d hadn’t done it a thousand times before. She’d never, however, expected to see Raven in that position, though.

“So… _Raven_.” Clarke took a large gulp from her mug.

Bellamy’s smirk grew. “Yep. She said she needed revenge on Finn for sleeping with some writer when they were still a thing.”

Clarke choked on her coffee, which spilled out of her mouth. Bellamy’s eyes caught hers, perplexed, and realization dawned on his face.

Clarke groaned. She had practically shouted her own guilt.

“ _No_.” Bellamy was smiling like a kid in a candy shop. “ _You_ are the hot writer? _You_ had sex with Collins in his office? Oh, this is too good.”

Clarke rubbed her forehead with her hand, but Bellamy was still smirking like the idiot he was. She turned and opened the door. “I’m not wasting time on this. We have actual work to do, Bellamy, for our real life jobs.”

Bellamy snorted as he caught up to her. “Yes, morning television. Very serious. Nothing to really stir the pot like discussing the benefits of certain dog food brands.”

Clarke crinkled her nose. “For the record, that was a very knowledgeable piece from which I learned a lot.”

Bellamy stuck his hands in his pockets. “Oh, I bet.” Sarcasm laced through his voice and her blood boiled. That was her piece, and sure it had totally sucked, but there was no need to mock it.

Clarke smiled sweetly. “Yeah. For example, now I know what to feed you when shedding season starts up again.”

Monty and Jasper, who were passing by, high-fived her, and started walking with them, refereeing the oncoming match.  
“And that’s two points for Griffin, implying that Blake is not only a dog, but also a balding dog.” Jasper cupped his hands around his mouth.

Bellamy was amused. He’d always taken some twisted pleasure in their sparring. “I would think that comment really should have been directed at you, Griffin, since you’re the bitch.”

Monty shouted “HEYO” as Jasper whooped. “And a nice comeback from Blake, hitting Griffin right where it hurts.”

Clarke grimaced. They’d stopped in front of her office. “Oh, Bellamy, if there’s a bitch around here, it’s you… a bitch in heat, considering the trail of women I see leaving your office every day. We really ought to make sure you’re not contracting anything...”

Monty and Jasper hollered. “That’s a low blow from Griffin, emasculating Blake like a CHAMP.”

Bellamy always hated it when she brought up his harem. He liked to think he was this paragon of a man, who granted only the luckiest women the opportunity to bed him. The fact was, he'd slept with almost every attractive woman on set.

His eyes took on a mean glint, warning Clarke she would probably regret hinting he had an STD in front of almost the entire office. People had come to witness the growing match, heads popping out of doorways like daisies in spring.

“Maybe you should come with me, Griffin, just to make sure none of the taken men you put yourself out to have given you anything truly nasty. In fact, Collins should probably come too. We can make it a party.” He smirked, clearly proud of himself.

Clarke’s heart plummeted. Monty, Jasper, and the entire office fell silent. Everyone had heard that. Clarke could feel her eyes start to water.

Jasper and Monty looked at Bellamy in shock. “Low blow, dude. Not cool.”

Clarke looked at all the raised eyebrows around the office, the titters coming from Roma, Bellamy’s ex-fling who had always hated her for no reason, the grin falling from Bellamy’s face as he started to realize the extent of their audience.

Before any tears could slip out, she mumbled quickly to Bellamy. “I’ll just talk to Raven about that piece, then. You can get the script from her.”

And she turned on her pumps.

“Clarke, wait-”

She didn’t hear anything else from Bellamy after that, since she slammed the door in his face.

Meanwhile, outside her office, Monty and Jasper turned on Bellamy. “That’s kind of fucked up, dude.”

Bellamy tried to defend himself. “What? I mean it’s not like it isn’t true!” He knew he sounded like a dick. Too late.

Monty and Jasper shared an exasperated look. “Clarke didn’t know about Finn and Raven, Bellamy. He played them both…”

And it dawned on Bellamy just how elegantly he’d fucked up. “Shit.”

The silly twins nodded. “Yeah. You just told the entire office Clarke slept with Finn, that Finn cheated on Raven, _and_ that Clarke knew about it and did it anyway. Not cool.”

Bellamy knocked his head on the wall as the twins, and the rest of the audience dispersed, gossiping about what they’d heard in hushed tones.

He hadn’t meant it to go that far. Something about her, though, just messed with him. He hated that Finn Collins, douche supreme, had fucked over Raven, and he’d thought Clarke was so much better than going along with that. He should’ve known she never would’ve done something like that. Hell, he was surprised she’d done the deed, office-style to begin with. He’d always pictured her as a slow and sensual kind of girl, who wanted an entire night of being slowly unraveled underneath him, her face glowing with heady lust and her-

_Okay. That’s enough of that._

He shook his head, trying to clear it, and stalked away before those thoughts could make a comeback.

-

Clarke didn’t talk to Bellamy for a week after that. He didn’t apologize, despite wanting to, and anything she needed to say went through Raven, who felt shitty about not specifying to Bellamy that Clarke was just as much a victim as she was.

Clarke was wallowing over her show’s shitty ratings in her apartment, Dirty Dancing on and a bowl of mac and cheese in front of her, when a knock sounded on her door. When she opened it, Raven and Octavia Blake, of all people, were standing in front of her, smiles on and holding shopping bags.

They barged in, and Raven officially introduced Octavia and Clarke. Clarke had met the nicer Blake plenty of times. She showed up at most office parties because she was in a very committed relationship with one of the anchors, Lincoln Crawford. He was a nice guy, and he and Octavia were very nauseating together.

When everyone was introduced, Raven walked over and clicked off the television. “Clarke, this is a little bit sad.” She paused. “Now, I feel really, really shitty about how everything went down with Finn and you-know-who, and when I told Octavia what happened she felt really bad too.”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s really not either of your faults.”

Octavia nodded sympathetic. “Yeah, but I don’t want you to think that it runs in the family, and Lincoln told me about when you defended our relationship to my brother when we first started dating and… well it’s just not fair, what he said to you.”

Raven picked up where Octavia left off. “So we were coming back from the mall, and we were passing your apartment, and we thought it would be nice if we all went to Grounders and just had some fun for a little while.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “As appealing as that sounds, guys, the risk of running into he-who-must-not-be-named is awfully high there.”

Octavia jumped in. “Actually, it’s not. Remember he was ‘dating’ Echo Romani, the bartender, and when he dropped her she blacklisted him.”

Clarke did vaguely remember teasing him about that. “Okay, then. That could be fun.”

Two hours later, Clarke was severely regretting her decision. Dressed in a skin tight monstrosity Raven had forced her into, boots, and done up like a cheap stripper, who else would they run into at Grounders other than you-know-who.

Turns out, Grounders had gotten a new bartender after Echo moved to New York. Some blond, attractive guy who kept making eyes at Raven (which were very much reciprocated). And guess who was chatting with him like old pals? That’s right. Clarke’s least favorite person working at ARK television.

When he saw her, his eyes went wide, dragging across her, head to toe, and Clarke fought the urge to pull up the top of her dress to cover her very prominent cleavage. Instead, she clenched her jaw and walked decidedly past him to a booth. The dance floor was packed, and Octavia sat with her while Raven started chatting up mr. bartender.

But when Bellamy saw Octavia was there too, there was no chance for Clarke to escape without talking to him. He stood and slid in on the other side of Octavia, across from Clarke.

“I didn’t realize you two even knew each other.” Bellamy seemed surprised, but not unhappy. Clarke frowned at his stupid unironic half-smile, and his stupidly disheveled hair, and his stupid leather jacket.

Octavia crossed her arms. “Well I introduced myself, since Clarke had done something nice for me. Didn’t want her thinking all Blakes were awful after what you apparently said to her.”

At least he had the decency to look ashamed. Octavia took that as a sign he wanted to apologize, and left Clarke alone at the booth with him, so that she could get drinks. Clarke stared pointedly at her drink, knowing Bellamy wouldn’t apologize now if he hadn’t in the past week.

But he surprised her. Bellamy cleared his throat. “Look, Clarke, I never apologized for saying those things… I was out of line and I’m, uh... I'm sorry.” Clarke looked up at him, surprise etched across her face. He snorted. “No need to look so shocked. I’d like to think I’m not a total asshole.”

Clarke cleared her throat. “Sorry, I just didn’t think you really cared how I felt at all.”

His expression dropped. “That’s not true…” He looked at the table.

Clarke bent down and caught his expression. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.” When he didn’t say anything, she pressed onward. “I can’t believe you’d think I would actually do that to someone. I mean it was bad enough being made into the other woman, but someone thinking I was in on it…” She didn’t need to finish.

“Is Collins still on your case?” There was a note of concern in his eyes that Clarke hadn’t ever seen before. He was clearly trying to make up for being such an ass, but it was working.

She sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. He went right back to her, and soon as she found out and booted him, he came crawling back to me, claiming we had something special.” She shook her head, laughing ironically at the whole situation. “God, what a dick.”

Bellamy’s smile started to creep back up, and Clarke found herself not minding its presence. She didn’t think she’d ever forget what he’d said to her, but she could forgive him for his lapse of judgement.

Octavia reappeared at that moment, rum and cokes in her hands. She placed them on the table, and Clarke greedily reached for one, more than ready to drown her self-pity.

“Now here’s something I thought I’d never see. Are you actually being civil to him, Clarke?” Octavia looked surprised, but pleased.

Clarke snorted, and took a long sip of her drink. “For now.”

Bellamy grinned. “There she is.”

-

Three hours into the night, and nobody was coherent. Mr. Bartender’s shift had ended and he’d disappeared with Raven, to be replaced with a pretty black-haired girl that Jasper (whom has showed up somewhere around 11 with Monty in tow) was shamelessly hitting on. He could barely string a full sentence together without starting to laugh to himself, but it appeared to actually be working. Lincoln had arrived, and he and Octavia had taken to the dancefloor, and Clarke didn’t want to know what kind of dancing they were engaging in. Monty had disappeared with Miller, the very cute technician. Meanwhile, Clarke and Bellamy were still at their table, drunker than they should be with work in the morning, and arguing about what constituted as ‘real news.’

“Oh, come on, you can’t really tell me you always wanted to write stories about cookware and which celebrities are going to rehab, Princess.” Bellamy was vehemently arguing against morning talk shows of all kinds.

Clarke rolled her eyes, a grin on her face. “Ok, so it may not be hard-hitting stuff, but people can’t watch boring news all the time! It’s depressing as hell! Sometimes you need a little product review and a little… awesomeness to make your morning tolerable!”

Bellamy guffawed. “Awesomeness? You want our show to have _awesomeness_?”

She hit him on the chest. They had gravitated to sitting in the same booth, Clarke with her back against the wall rather than the booth, and her legs resting on Bellamy’s legs.

She rolled her eyes. “Well what would you prefer we report about?”

His thumbs were drawing circles in her calves, but what was probably her third shot of vodka made her forget to mind. He smiled. “I would want to report about the stuff that matters in this city. Crime and fraud and stuff like that.”

She took a sip of her drink. “But… why?”

He sighed, his thumbs, continuing their path. “Well, when I went into this job, I always thought I would be talking about important stuff. I just never thought I would end up… here. I thought I would be talking about stuff that really matters, I guess.”

Clarke paused, swirling her straw in her drink. “I think what we do matters, Bellamy.” He looked at her thoughtfully until she continued. “I think that when there’s so much bad news that we could be reporting, what really matters most is bringing something to the table to remind people that it't not _all_ bad. And if the cost of making someone’s morning interesting in a good way is reporting about things you don’t really care about, I think I’d do it any day.” He was looking at her thoughtfully and she stared back.

“What?”

“Just a very interesting thing for you to say, Princess.” He smiled and patted her leg. “Maybe now I’ll put a little more effort into making your stories sound interesting.”

She grinned.

-

After that, the night was a blur.

She woke up in a very comfortable bed, alone, and cooking noises coming from the kitchen. Her dress was still on, thank God, but her shoes and coat were laying next to the bed. She stood up on wobbly legs, a headache throbbing in her skull, and followed the scent of something truly delicious through one of the nicest apartments she’d ever seen.

When she finally found her way to the source of the smell, she found _Bellamy_ bent over the stove, hair ruffled, plain white tee shirt doing nothing to hide his muscular frame, and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. She gulped.

He turned around to reach for the cutting board of chopped vegetables on his kitchen island, and caught her worried expression.

“Don’t worry, Princess, I slept on the couch.” Just as she said this, she noticed the black eye, and the cut on his left cheek.

“Oh my god, what happened?” She rushed forward and dragged his head down between her hands, inspecting his injuries.

He smirked like an idiot. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but the omelette I’m making is going to burn if you don’t let go of my head.” She let go, ignoring his comment. “And honestly, I’m not sure. I remember punching someone, and then we took in a taxi back here, and you collapsed on my bed, and I took the couch.”

Clarke swallowed thickly, trying to hide her embarrassment. “Sorry…”

He shrugged, his back to her, and she sat on the kitchen island. “It’s no problem. I have a comfy ass couch.”

Clarke smirked. “This must be the first time you’ve had to use it with a girl in your apartment.”

Bellamy turned and gave her a weird look. “Well, yes, because this is the first time I’ve brought a girl to my apartment.”

Clarke couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re kidding.”

He smiled at her. “Nope. You, Clarke Griffin, are the one and only non-family girl who has slept over in this apartment.” He grew sheepish. “I don’t like giving girls the wrong idea. What they see is what they get with me.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows, a little disbelieving. “Clearly not. I never would have pegged you for a chef.”

He turned, and flipped an omelet onto a plate, before starting to chop more vegetables for a second one. He passed the plate in her direction, but before she started to dig in, she stood and walked around the island. “Before you start with the whole cooking thing again, let me at least take a look at your face.”

Bellamy grinned. “Look all you want, Princess.”

She felt her face start to heat, and she stomped her foot. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Now sit down and tell me where your first aid kit is.”

He pointed to a cabinet behind her and she stood on her tiptoes while he sat the chair she’d just vacated. As she grasped it, she grew painfully aware of her tight dress riding up, and the gaze she could feel on her ass.

“Bellamy if you are staring at my ass when I turn around I will _not_ be happy.” With that warning, she turned around and Bellamy’s gaze was fixed pointedly on the hardwood floor.

She smirked and popped open the case, finding some rubbing alcohol and some gauze. She dabbed the alcohol on the gauze and stepped towards him, between his legs, so she could get to the cut on his face.

“This will sting.” That was all the warning she gave before pressing the gauze to his cut. He hissed, but otherwise showed no sign of pain. Instead, he fixed his eyes on hers while she tended to his cut.

“You sure seem to know your way around a first aid kit.” He spoke through his teeth, trying to forget about the stinging on his cheek.

She shrugged. “Well, I was very nearly a doctor.”

He pulled his face away and gave her an odd look. “Really. You, a doctor?” She nodded. “What changed your mind?”

She took a deep breath as she popped open some neosporin, the cream cold on her finger. “My dad died. Car accident. I didn't feel like working in a hospital after that.”

As she dabbed the cream onto his cheek, he grabbed her wrist gently, and Clarke became aware once again of the position she was in. Her face flushed.

“I’m sorry.” His voice wasn't like the ones at the funeral, all gentle and careful.  He was blunt, not tiptoeing around it.  She appreciated that.

She didn’t know why she was telling him this. Maybe because this was a side of the haughty asshole she’d never seen, and she liked it. “You seem to be apologizing to me a lot lately. You don’t need to apologize for things you had nothing to do with.”

Bellamy’s breath skated across her arm, and she shivered. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She sighed, and looked him in the eyes. “It was six years ago, and I’m happy now; I don’t regret giving it up.”

Bellamy let go of her hand, and she continued dabbing neosporin onto his cheek. She was gentle, Bellamy barely felt the ghost of her finger bouncing lightly over the still stinging gash.

“Still, losing a parent…. that's a new level of awful.  I would know.”

His eyes were warm.

“I’m sorry.” She peeled the wrapping off of a band-aid and gently laid it over his cheek, and when she was done, he was smiling softly.

“It was ten years ago, and I’m happy now.” She rolled her eyes as he spit her own words back at her. She was brutally aware of how close they were, and he was moving closer, his eyes darting to look at her lips before meeting her eyes again. “That omelet I slaved over is going to get cold.”

She swallowed thickly and walked around to the other side of the island as he started his own breakfast.

When she bit into the omelet, she groaned. It was impeccable. “This is heavenly.” He chuckled, and she could see his grin on the side of his face as he stood over the stove. “How do you make it so…” she paused, looking for the right word, “ _fluffy_?”

He laughed now, full force. “ _Fluffy_ , Princess? _That’s_ the adjective you went with? Aren’t you a writer?”

Her cheeks flushed and she laughed, looking at her omelet. “Well, I was almost a doctor.”

He flipped the omelet. “And I was almost an archaeologist.”

She cocked her head as she chewed, legs tucked under her. “Were you really?”

He nodded as he popped his omelet onto his plate. He grabbed a fork and rested his elbows on the kitchen island as he ate standing up. “Believe it or not,” he spoke around a mouthful of food, “I am fluent in Latin.”

Her eyes widened, and she took another bite, laughing. “What made you decide on being a news reporter?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to know more about current events, and I’d loved watching the news as a kid.”

“Not morning talk shows though?”

He snickered. “No, Princess, _not_ morning talk shows.”

Her eyes focused on the stove clock behind him, and she jumped. Speaking of morning talk shows. "Shit! Bellamy, we had to be at work like four hours ago!”

He shrugged. “I called us in. Kane said it was cool. Neither of us has take a ton of sick days.”

Clarke blinked at him. “So you’re telling me our friends witnessed us leave Grounders together, will not see either of us at work, and will probably hear from someone that you called us _both_ in, _at the same time_?”

He nodded, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Relax, Clarke. It’s not the end of the world. Besides, would you really mind if Finn thought you were busy with me all last night?”

She blushed (she’d been doing that an awful lot recently, and especially in present company). “I guess not…”

They finished their breakfast with light chatter, and when she left, Clarke found she didn’t actually mind Bellamy Blake anymore. She didn’t know exactly when or why, but his annoying arrogant attitude was no longer all that annoying.

-

The first thing Bellamy noticed when he was back at work was the matching shiner that Finn bore shamefully on his right eye. Bellamy smiled to himself and thought of Clarke.  His left hook had always been pretty great.  Call it **spur of the moment.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOP there it is. I love these two. Ugh i had so much fun writing the kitchen scene. I know, this is VERY loosely based off of Morning Glory (GREAT movie). Bellamy is based off of Harrison Ford's character, while Clarke is Rachel McAdams' character and those two were NOT romantic in the movie but I just loved this idea so I ran with it and here it is. So stay tuned for part 2 coming very soon, within the next couple of days. Not sure yet if this will be a 2-shot or a 3-shot because I super love this au. Ps can I get a hell yeah for Bellamy punching Finn in the face
> 
> -Ana


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